A PROPOSAL FOR THE DELONEYS

❝

IT HAD not rained for days, and the sky remained overcast as if it were conspiring with the Deloney estate to moan at this time. Earl Marcus stood there beside the window, stiff but tired. Disappointment weighed down every proud man who had commanded attention with every glance now. The uncertainty and fear were now gripped much in his life after Charlotte's disappearance. Staring like that outside, one could spend hours just looking at the land, hoping, praying, even for the slightest sign that his daughter would eventually return home. Yet outside, there was the same silence as was felt in his heart. Nothing. 

The silence was shattered by a knock on the door. Without turning from the window, the Earl spoke in a quiet but firm tone. "Come in." 

The door creaked open, and there appeared his butler, bowing in the best tradition. "Your Lordship, the Duke Albrecht of Bords Trois-Rivières, is here. He wishes to speak with you." 

His brow furrowed, Earl Marcus paused. The visit of the Duke came unexpected, but perhaps it was better this way, too long had the hunt for her daughter dragged so that the burden of the unknown was beginning to gnaw at him. "Show him in," came the answer, a little more strained than he had meant. 

In a moment, Duke Albrecht had come in. He had still a little youth shining through his features, but the rest of him was an impressive figure. The Duke's coat was dark blue, trimmed in silver, still dusty from the road. He stood large and composed, though his shadowy eyes bore a greyish fog. Always smooth, but now tension crossed over him like an electric line as he moved before the Earl to bow. 

"Earl Deloney," Duke Albrecht greeted, voice sounding respectful yet firm. 

"Duke Albrecht," Marcus replied, an eyebrow raised at the surprise in his tone. "I trust all went well for you on your journey?" 

"As swiftly as may be," said the Duke, settling in the chair motioned at by the Earl. The silence that ensued was much more than simply that easy silence between old allies; it was thick and filled with unspoken tension and implication. That weight bore down on both at the reality of the matter which had brought the Duke here. 

Marcus did not waste his time. Words were careful but reflected a little urgency. "This is, indeed, a visit regarding the matter of my daughter?" 

Albrecht nodded, and the seriousness in his expression deepened. "It is. I have had my men spread out across the southern provinces, questioning anybody who might have seen a noblewoman fitting her description. Tavern keepers, stable hands, merchants... they have left no stone unturned. But—" The Duke hesitated for a moment before continuing. "There has been no sign of her. No one recalls having seen her in any of the towns we believed she might have passed through. Your Lordship, she has vanished without a trace."

The Earl slumped his shoulders and exhaled slowly. He raised his gloved hand to his temple, rubbing it as though the effort would blank out the headache forming in his mind. "I see," he said, his voice flat. "Nothing? Not even the faintest whisper of her presence? No clues?" 

"I wish I could offer something more," Albrecht said, his voice colored with sincere regret. "But there is nothing." 

"I do not fault you, Duke," Marcus dubiously said; even to himself, the words rang hollow. "I must have just been a fool." Albrecht regarded the Earl carefully for a moment, weighing his words. Then he leaned forward ever so slightly, his tone changing toward the serious. "But there is something else."

The Earl lifted his head, a frown settling on his forehead. "What is that?" 

The Duke plunged his hand into his coat, fingers brushing against something hidden there. Slowly, he produced a sealed letter bearing wax with the Deloney crest. Marcus's glances betrayed deeper confusion as he accepted that letter from the younger man, flicking his gaze from the seal back to the Duke.

"It is from my grandfather," Albrecht answered. "The Elder Duke, the former head of the house."

Marcus stared at the letter, brow even more furrowed. The seal—an unmistakable family crest. But this was a letter he had neither expected nor was prepared to receive. He looked back at the Duke, who gazed at him in silence, crystal neutral, but Marcus sensed a flicker of unease. "The Elder Duke?" he repeated, lowering his voice, as though uncertain of what to do with the unexpected communication. 

"I thought it best to bring it directly to you rather than giving it to an emissary,"The Duke said evenly.

Earl Marcus's hands were steady now, but within them lay a storm raging beyond his outward demeanor. He unfolded the letter once more, reading it with even greater care. It carried unmistakable handwriting from the Elder Duke of Trois-Rivières—graceful, to the point, and firm in tone, like a gavel pounding judgment in court. 

To the Right Honourable Earl Marcus Deloney: 

With grave thoughts, I take up my pen to consider the interests of both our Houses. In light of the recent disturbances and the complete uncertainty regarding your youngest daughter, it seems necessary to forge a tie between our Houses more durable than any declaration on paper. 

I hereby propose, along with Duke Emeritus Albrecht of Trois-Rivières, the betrothal of his grandson, Duke Sigmone De La Tremouille Albrecht, to your eldest daughter, Lady Carmelia Vacher Deloney.

This decision has not only been thoroughly discussed, but it carries my own sanction fully, as well as the agreement of the Duke Albrecht himself. Your House is very much a house of renown and pedigree; the stability of such a union in these troubled times would fortify both our bloodlines in their opposition to the ever-shifting tides of court and crown.

Now, Your Lordship, only your consent awaits. 

Marcus lowered the letter with elaborate slowness, staring into the flickering light of the candle on his desk, an inscrutable expression upon his face. Silence from Marcus stirred Sigmone, who had stood at a decorous distance.

"Perhaps it seems sudden," said the young Duke, measured yet grave. "But it is a decision we have not made lightly. My grandfather sees it as a wise step for both our Houses; I concur." 

Marcus engaged him with an appraisal that was both sharp and probing. "You concur," he echoed. "Does Carmelia know?"

"She does not," was Albrecht's ungrudging admission. "We felt it best to first present it to you." 

A long silence ensued. The Earl slowly rose from his chair and walked over to the window again. With his back to the Duke, he held the letter loosely in his hand. 

"Do keep in mind that Carmelia is four years younger than you," he said quietly, almost to the glass in front of him. "She is nothing like Charlotte. She neither yearns for power nor rebels. She obeys, often without questioning. And yet..." 

"And yet," Albrecht echoed softly, knowing the unspoken words. 

The Earl turned, his eyes as heavy but sharp as ever. "You ask for a future that will secure both your Houses, and mine, while one of my daughters remains missing." 

"There was hope for stability in the union," Albrecht replied firmly. "For your House, yes— for hers as well. She will not be alone— I will see to that." 

Marcus scrutinized him for a moment, the silence stretching between them like a wire drawn tight. Then he sat back in his chair, placing the letter carefully on the table. 

"I suppose I will speak to Carmelia," he said, though there was no commitment in his tone. "But hear this, Duke. One daughter I have lost— another I shall not lose to an obligation." 

Gravely and with poise, Albrecht nodded. "I understand, my lord. And I shall not take her lightly." 

After the Earl's words, silence thickened in the room as the very walls seemed to await any decision made by the elder of the two. Duke Albrecht stood tall, stationary in the flicker of candlelight that laid its harsh lines across the ageless symmetry of his youthful yet sober face. After a brief pause, he walked forward-not aggressively, and yet with intent.

"That may be true: I hardly know Lady Carmelia," he said, keeping his voice steady and even. "We have had formal, brief—almost fleeting—encounters. Still, I have seen enough to observe that she is a woman of dignity, discerningly elegant, and no less strong."

He hesitated to measure his words.

"But this proposal is hardly built on love or old musty passions. It is built on need, and it must be built on trust if ever the two Houses shall repair. I do not wish to take her as a stranger and leave her as one. I would offer her a settled life, free from all that chaos that so oftentimes haunts women of noble blood. No prying eyes, no whispering doubts in the corridors; she would have my respect… and, if she were willing, my loyalty over time."

The Earl observed him closely. His eyes, shaded by age and weariness, narrowed somewhat—not in skepticism but rather in deliberation.

"And what, Your Grace, about love?" he said after a pause. "Will you give her any of that, too? Or is that an indulgence we're no longer allowed to speak about?"

Albrecht turned to gaze at the hearth, where the flame struggled against the drafts. Then he turned back to meet the Earl's gaze.

"Love is often a fickle thing, my lord. It can be nurtured, or it can die like paper. I do not offer my love," he stated frankly. "But I will not offer her deceit. I will not betray her. I will not neglect her. I will be honest with her, I will protect her... and I will give her peace. Should love arise, it shall not be required of her; should it come, I will embrace it." 

The Earl remained seated, fingers tenting under his chin, silent for one moment longer. Finally, he gave a slight nod—not so much acquiescence but acknowledgment of the younger man's forthrightness.

"You speak like an old man in a young man's coat, Duke Albrecht," he murmured. "I wonder if that is your strength, or your burden."

To that, Albrecht gave a shadow of a smile—perhaps rueful, perhaps not.

"Both, perhaps."

The talk had run its course, and the weight remained pleasantly present in the room, like incense scars on the walls. Duke Albrecht rose and bowed slightly to the Earl, who returned the gesture with a silent acknowledgement.

"I will leave you to your thoughts, my Lord," Albrecht said, keeping his tone steady. "And thank you for hearing me."

Marcus did not speak immediately, but as he gazed outside, thoughts of the proposal still filled his mind. The sun was low on the horizon, bathing the sky in shades of embers and violets. A couple of heartbeats of silence passed, after which the Duke turned and walked toward the door.

He barely got to the study's door before he came to a solid halt. Against the stone wall beside the door, Lord Callistopher leaned casually with an inscrutable expression on his face. His bearing may be relaxed, but there was no masking the glint of amusement in those dark eyes-they held something beyond that, something that even Albrecht could not put his finger on. The duke managed to sigh quietly.

"Lord Callistopher," he finally greeted with a neutral tone. Still, weight from the conversation lingered on his chest. "Have you been eavesdropping?"

Callistopher flashed a half-smile, one side of his mouth curling up. "Hardly," he said as he pushed himself away from the wall. "But I was near enough to catch the essence of your... conversation, Sigmone. Politics, proposals, the usual matters of old men." His voice, playful, yet with an underlying level of understanding, softened the weight of his words. "I never knew you had such weighty affairs on your mind."

Sigmone returned his friend's gaze, yet no anger crystalized within him-only weary resignation. "It's not a matter of choice, Callistopher. The proposal was made by my grandfather, and I have no say in it, not really."

An amused chuckle leapt from Callistopher's lips, a glimmer of compassion flashing in his eyes as he relaxed against the wall. "Ah, yes. The ever-demanding weight of tradition. But you are an honourable man, Duke Albrecht, and I trust you shall bear it with dignity." Callistopher's tone grew intimate. "But I know there is someone else you would wish to be speaking of. Someone who was never part of this... calculated game."

The Duke turned his gaze aside, letting loose the barest hint of tension in his jaw. "I know what you mean, Callistopher."

Few words were ever necessary between the two childhood friends; Sigmone had always known Callistopher well. Their friendship, forged in unwritten understanding, was built from years of knowing each other's thoughts before uttering a word. 

"Just truly, not angry, are you?" Callistopher asked now, his own voice lowering. "This thrusting of the union upon you by your grandfather is not your way. Following along with what others want for you was never your way. But I can see it weighs on you."

"No," Sigmone spoke quietly. "I am not mad or anything. I'm just…" He trailed away, unable to define the ruin that had embattled his heart. "Disappointed. Disappointed in the future that seems to be crafted by someone else."Albrecht continued to nod, about his thinking distorted from the second.

"You know, Sigmone, I've always been on the other side of the debate from my family on something perhaps akin to your predicament. They wanted my younger sister to wed one she barely knew. Someone of status, of wealth, of duty. But Charlotte...," he released the name like a sigh, regret in his tone, "I could refuse. I did resist my family on it, even though I knew it was to no avail. But still, I could not stand her suffering for it. I could not—"

Sigmone's eyes turned to Callistopher, sensing the love that surrounded the words of his friend. "You would've kept her from it, if you could?"

The lord nodded, almost a bittersweet smile playing at the lips. "I wouldn't want her to be like common noble women. In a marriage she didn't choose herself.'' 

The subject was gradually shifting, with Duke Albrecht leaning against the stone wall, looking into the distance, as if recalling something deep within his memory. Taking a long breath, he seemed well-considered before speaking out now with a voice, heavy with solemnity.

"You know, Callistopher." Duke's voice was very calm. "I remember Charlotte when we were children. She was...so different. So warm, so free...That kind of child who would jump across to the garden in sunlight without a care in the world. One is hard to picture now after everything that has happened."

Callistopher's gaze softened as he listened, feeling the weight of Sigmone's words. "That was before... her abduction," he said quietly, almost as if uttering something that should never be spoken. 

Sigmone nodded, the memory making his jaw tighten. "Yes. If I'm not mistaken, it was that same day–her eighth birthday. A day that should've been all joy and celebration turned out to be the complete opposite. I am just glad she was brought back. It could have been much worse." Clenching his fist at his side for a moment, he slowly shook his head. 

"But something changed in her after that, Callistopher," the Duke continued, his voice heavy with the weight of unspoken grief. "It's like... she became the complete opposite of what she was before. She was distant, withdrawn. Barely even remembers half of what happened to her. It's as though the Charlotte we once knew... was lost." He sighed gently, looking down at his hands. "I don't think any of us really knew how to help her after that. It's as if a piece of her... vanished."

Thoughtfully, the expression on Callistopher's face changed as he permitted Sigmone's words to unsettle him. Change or no change, Callistopher had also known Charlotte. He had been watching her bloom into a young woman with an unspoken burden upon her shoulders, a burden that had existed long before. The burden of trying to reach out to her had never been easy for anyone, a task made terribly hard due to her size difference back then, and now in years to come a landscape of scattered wisdom and regret. 

"Must be the trauma", Callistopher slowly said in a voice rife with understanding. "I... I can't picture what she went through during that time. And all these years to keep it silently heavy in her heart may have... " He paused for a moment, and the shadow of sorrow darkened his countenance. "It would have changed her in ways none of us can understand. And then for it to take so many years for her to cure herself, if she ever did." 

Sigmone's gaze darkened with a heavy infusion of sorrow and frustration. The mix of colors in his gaze was dimmed by salt of tears. "Right. Several years passed before she found any semblance of herself. And still, she was never quite the same because of it. Sometimes, I wonder whether we did enough. Maybe if I had stepped in myself, there was a choice that could have been made against a difference."

Callistopher shook his head, kind but firm. "No one could have done more, Sigmone. No one could have known how deep the scars went. What happened to her… changed everything. And no one can undo that kind of trauma. It's not just something you rub grease on and get over."

Again the Duke nodded slowly. But there was a shadow of guilt in Callistopher's eyes. "And my parents…" He tried to swallow down the knot in his throat. "They always worried about her, you know? About what might ever happen to her again. They never stopped fearing that something like that would repeat itself. And, in a way… it did happen again."

There was a weight to the admission that lingered in the air; after a long pause, Duke Albrecht straightened, his mind clearing as sighs of breath slipped through parted lips. It seemed as though that force, that tension which had existed between the two, was finally set free.

"Let us forget the trouble we are currently in," said Sigmone, a glimmer of lightness returning to his tone as he turned to face Callistopher, a small wistful smile dancing at the corners of his lips. "We've been carrying this burden for far too long. Sometimes, we need to put it all aside for a while." 

Callistopher looked at him, curious, one eyebrow raised. "What do you suggest, then?" 

"I was thinking," he said, life returning to his eyes, "of a good old-fashioned sparring match. In the fencing room, just like when we were younger--a chance for both of us to clear our minds. I am sure that neither of us can forget just how badly you put it on me last time." The smile was bright, and there was a challenge in his voice.

Callistopher gave a light chuckle, his first real laugh in days. "I remember. But do not think for a second that I shall be lenient with you, Sigmone." 

"I wouldn't expect you to," said Sigmone, grinning like an angel. 

"It's been far too long. Shall we?"